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MAG038 – Resident 2088 – “Seek And Find"
KEEPER
Record Keeper's note. I am currently conducting this report within the records room. Martin has invited me back. He didn't waste much time before disappearing between the shelves and filing cabinets that house the records but it's... nice, I suppose, to know that he's alright with me being in the room with him, big as it is.
Interview with Andre- (Heavy coughing. When Jon speaks again, his voice is hoarse.)
…Interview with Andre Ramao, regarding a series of lost objects found over the course of three months. Original Interview taken June 6th, 2012. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Record Keeper of the Magnus Sanctuary, London.
Interview begins.
KEEPER (INTERVIEW)
Your pen’s right on the floor, right there. Oh, no need to thank me, I've got a knack for finding things.
Now, where were we...? Oh, right, my career.
I’ve been in the antiques business for a long time. It’s not what it used to be. (Laughs) I’m sorry, I know. It’s a terrible joke, really, but I’ve gotten into the habit of telling it. It’s got a bit of a follow up: Something along the lines of the joke being so old only an antiques dealer would be able to sell it. Again, it’s not a good joke, but I’ve grown fond of it. And it always gets one or two laughs from the unamused client. Which is probably why I remembered buying the necklace so clearly… it was the only time the laughter seemed sincere.
It’s not every day you come across someone as prolific as Mikaele Salesa. That's a true statement, but it's misleading- He's famous in the business, and the prices he puts on his wares are so low that he's honestly more like a charity than a dealer- but the reason you don't see him often isn't because he's busy. It's because the Monarchy has been hunting him down for years. When he pops up, you buy from him, and you buy as much as you can, because it'll only be so long until the M.O.B catches him for good. So in March of that year, when I heard from a source- who heard from a source, who heard from a source, and so on- that the legendary Mikaele Salesa was in town, I crossed my fingers, got in my car, and quietly prayed that the rumors were true.
When I found where Salesa had set up shop, I practically kissed the man. It was the first time I’d met him, so even after I confirmed that I wasn’t M.O.B., and that I wasn’t wearing a wire or a camera, I swear you could cut the tension with a knife. So I told my dumb joke and Mikaele… laughed. The tension dissipated, the anxiety distilled, and Mikaele started getting down to business. I made my offers, and he made his, and a particular find of his caught my eye: An antique chinese pendant, with a long golden chain that ran into a large magnifying lense. Etched into the edge of the lense was a symbol composed of 3 small lines, and something like an underlined plus sign above a box: the chinese character for clear.
Mikael explained that, from the handiwork of the chain and the method of the glassmaking, it was likely that this particular pendant was made on commission by an arabic jeweler for a chinese noble some time in the Jiang period. Making this a 16th century artifact. That's impressive for one of two reasons: for one, jewelry has a habit of getting stolen by thieves and graverobbers, that's a fact all over the world. Secondly, while glass the material maintains integrity and lasts an extraordinarily long time, glasses and lenses are incredibly prone to breaking. Making this absurdly valuable. I gave him my price. He smirked, and lowered it. I bought it in a heartbeat.
I took my haul to the car, and placed the delicate necklace into my coat pocket. On the long drive home, I noted that my route back seemed… Smoother than usual. I knew exactly when and where to turn and I barely glanced at the GPS. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but knowing what I know now, I can’t shake the thought that it had something to do with the necklace in my pocket.
When I finally got home that night I tried to stay quiet. I had always tried to stay quiet, lately. My husband David and I… hadn't been getting along. To be frank, I didn't appreciate him enough: he was a spectacular help around the house, and he loved me openly, and I… well, I didn't deserve him. But because I was the moneymaker, I thought that made me better than him, somehow, as if I hadn't chosen to marry him.
… My frustrations with my past self aside, when I quietly stepped back into the apartment, I allowed myself a moment to once again inspect my newly acquired necklace, removing it first from my pocket, then the delicate packaging I had wrapped it in. As I did so, I was struck by the irresistible urge to just… slip it on. I did, almost by instinct, and then continued on to look through the lense. And looking through the lense, with some measure of amusement... I saw my loafers just beneath the coffee table. My favorite loafers, the ones I wore to meetings and the like. They'd been missing for a month by then, and I concluded that David must have found them. So I took them out from under the coffee table, and set them beside it.
I slipped the necklace back into its packaging, went to bed, and resolved to thank David in the morning. And, predictably, I never did.
The next day was just as full of pleasant surprises. It was a weekend, so I woke up to find that David had made us both pancakes. See, that's the wonderful thing about David… he's so doting, and caring, and he stayed like that even when we were falling apart and… Sorry, I'm losing my train of thought. David asked if I'd found my loafers last night. I told him that yes, I had, and that was that. At the time I thought he meant "Did you see where I put your loafers?", rather than "Did you find them, or did they just materialize beside the coffee table?" But… Well. If I knew then what I know now, I would've explained that it was practically the latter.
Shortly after we finished eating breakfast, David went out to get groceries. It was then that I discovered that I was so busy thanklessly stuffing pancakes into my mouth, that it took me a full half-hour before I realized that the priceless necklace was inexplicably once again wrapped around my neck. I pulled it out from under my shirt, frantically investigating it for any damage to the glass, and discovered that there was none. I exhaled a sigh of relief, and concluded that the glass and metalwork must've been far stronger than I expected.
Before I could once again resolve to put the precious antique back into its protective packaging, the bookshelf in the corner of my apartment caught my eye. There was an empty space one one of the shelves that had remained there for some time, due to the tragic absence of my signed copy of Catch-22. I had lost it a few months ago- and, unfortunately, blown up at David over it- and had yet to find another book to take its place on the shelf. Remembering the lost loafers, I chuckled a bit, and raised my magnifying glass toward the bookshelf, attempting to see if the book would perhaps reappear in the empty space… And I was only half right.
Because through the magnifying glass, with perfect Clarity, I could clearly see the book lodged beneath our couch. It must've fallen and been kicked below, and neither I nor David would've thought to look. But there it was! My precious book, lost for ages, suddenly perfectly visible… And to think, I needed a magical relic to be able to find a lost book under a couch.
It was, of course. Magical, I mean. And once I figured that out, I never attempted to sell it. I found my neighbor's keys on the stairwell; our own car keys just by the sink; my grandfather's teapot, in the attic; my tie, by the coffee table. I know these all seem like mundane examples, but it seemed that every time I put my eye to the magnifying lense, I would spot something previously hidden in plain sight. That's the thing, isn't it? So much of what we lose is hidden in plain sight, in that space between objects that the mind just filters out. Maybe that's all the magnifying glass did: make it so that no sight is plain, so that every detail is noteworthy.
And… well, luckily for me, it let me see the wonderful man in front of me all along.
We had our fight in April. It was my fault of course, I see that now, but I didn't then. I was too proud, and too stubborn, and too damn… Selfish. I said so much that I regret, and he couldn't take it anymore. My dear, sweet, David stormed out of the house. I told myself he would be back: I was too good to just give up like that, after all, really. But after two day's time of very lonely nights… My guilt began to weigh on me. I retrieved the magnifying glass once more and whispered a silent plea: "Show me where I lost my joy."
I raised it to the kitchen and saw dirty plates on the table. Plates full of pancake crumbs, eaten together, as a couple. And I knew then that the money and souvenirs I brought home to him were nothing compared to the home he made for me. He was a better man than me, let alone a better husband. So, with my precious necklace-glass clutched in hand, I ran to my car, hopped in, and slammed on the gas.
The lense helped. Once I knew how to look through it, I could find more than just "lost things". I could find the perfect flower shop; The perfect place to buy chocolates; the words to apologize; the way to say I love you, in a way that he'd believe. And once I'd done all that, I once again brought the magnifying glass to my face and whispered: "Show me my lost love."
And I… followed the lense. I don't know how to explain it, not really, but I followed the lense to my destination. To dear, sweet, David, lying awake and in bed at a hotel across the city. I spoke, I cried, he cried, we ate chocolate. And by the end of the night, we were once again sleeping in the same apartment in our bed, and I knew that the man I slept beside was the best husband I could ever ask for. It's been two years since then, and we're still happily married.
I recently lost the magnifying glass, ironically enough. In the glass's place was twice what I'd paid for it in Republique Dollars, and a note that read… "Sorry, needed this one back".
It's just as well honestly: David and I have been considering adoption, and knowing me, I'd probably have ended up using it to look for "The perfect child". But, if David can settle for me, I can learn to settle with "less than perfect" too.
KEEPER
A sweet story. And I do mean that. Ill as I currently feel, this story has warmed my (sarcastically) cold, dead, administrative heart. And… I will say, I sincerely hope that Mr. Ramao's sentiment on settling for less than perfection resonates with people other than myself… otherwise, I may have some issues to work out.
Regardless, I should be submitting some files soon...
[SOUND OF WOOD MOVING AGAINST THE FLOOR AS KEEPER GETS OUT OF THE CHAIR.]
… So I'll be taking a few steps and-
[KEEPER CLATTERS TO THE FLOOR WITH A SUDDEN CRY OF PAIN, AND A CALAMITOUSLY LOUD CRASHING FOLLOWS. ONCE THE CRASHING FINISHES, KEEPER BEGINS COUGHING WILDLY.]
SASHA
[SLAMMING OPEN THE DOOR TO THE RECORDS ROOM]
God, Jon, can you be more loud -
… Oh god. You alright?
KEEPER
Yes I'm… I'll be… (Intense coughing, retching noises.) I'll be fine. Just a small headrush.
SASHA
Cool it with the cough, Sims. (Gallows humor sarcastic tone:) You catch Argenvermi or something?
KEEPER
Don't joke. And, no, no I… no I haven't. I had myself tested two weeks ago, and it… it came back negative.
So I… I couldn't…
[THE COUGHING AND RETCHING BECOME MORE THAN DIALOGUE NOW, A SLIMY, UNBEARABLY UNPLEASANT SLICK NOISE JOINING WITH THE KEEPER'S COUGHS. THE SOUND OF SOMETHING DRIPPING CAN BE HEARD, AND THE KEEPER STAGGERS BACK AS HE REALIZES WHAT HE HAS COUGHED INTO HIS HAND. WORMS.]
Sasha get away from me. Get away from me.
[CLICK.]